


Happenstance

by Heather C (riteinthefeels)



Series: The Woes of Deceit [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Buttsex, Incest, Loki pretends he doesn't want it, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riteinthefeels/pseuds/Heather%20C





	Happenstance

Sif returns early in the morning, moonlight washing red specks on her face into black against creamy skin. Crisp winter air dances along her nerves and she huddles under white furs, burgundy staining the edges where she grabs it with dry and cracking fingers. She nudges the courtyard door open with her shoulder, and it silently swings closed as she slips through.

Drops of snow melt behind her as she pads through the corridors. A laden goatskin, still warm against her leg, swings at her side. She steps quickly, climbing narrow circles of stairs and moving from torch to torch as her own shadow dances around her, now behind, now before. She passes a guard, nodding as he stares wide-eyed.

Up one more flight and she squeezes through the door to Loki’s quarters, shaking him where he slumbers next to a petite blonde serving girl.

“Get up,” she hisses, and disappears into the bathing room.

He trudges groggily after her, wrinkling his nose as he passes through the doorway.

“Sif,” he croaks. “You stink. Is that blood?”

She plops the goatskin at his feet and hangs her furs on a chair before climbing into the basin.

“Do you mind?” she snaps, and Loki rolls his sleep-filled eyes and yawns, waving his hand and filling the tub with hot water.

He collapses onto the chair and leans against Sif’s furs, rubbing his bare back on them. Sif carefully removes her gauntlets, inspecting them for blood and dirt and scrubbing with a stiff horsehair brush.

“Eat it. Before it gets cold,” she commands, eyes trained to the details of her armor.

Loki eyes the skin and nudges it with his toe. He leans to move it closer, pulling the string at the mouth and is instantly assaulted by the same foulness on Sif’s body a hundred-fold.

“You can’t be serious, Sif! How—“

Icy blue eyes glare from long lashes and blood-speckled eyelids. “Do you see my face?” she growls. “My face looks this way because I risked my life to bring you his heart. Alone. You _will_ eat it.”

Loki sighs dramatically, shoulders rising almost to his jaw before slumping back down.

“Alright. _Fine_. Which one is it, anyway?”

“Not the big one. Grafvitnir, maybe.”

Reaching down into the bag, the trickster hefts the glistening heart with both hands while his stomach turns.

Sif pulls off her breastplate, inspecting and cleaning it as before with her bracers. “You wanted it. Remember that. Something about the Volsings—“

“The Vol _sungs_ , Sif.”

“—who may or may not have actually existed, and may or may not have actually done the things you read about.”

“It was worth a try. I have to know. Not everyone can hang themselves from the Tree for nine days and expect an outcome so favorable.”

She rolls her eyes. “O, please. You really think the Allfather did all those things in the stories?”

“Well, why not?”

“Loki,” she clucks, leaning over the tub’s edge so he can feel her breath on his cheek, “Have you ever screwed a horse?”

He snorts, raising an eyebrow. “Where did you hear that?”

She leans back, resuming her inspection. “It was in one of those books you have about us. Also, I am not blonde, nor is Thor my husband.”

“True, but I…”

“You what?”

“I… have never screwed a horse.” _Though I may have some children you don’t know about._

He raises the heart to his face and holds his breath to keep from vomiting. “Sif. This thing smells like death.”

“What did you honestly expect from a creature that survives on corpses?” She pulls her tunic over her head and leans against the basin’s edge, soaking her blood-caked skin as she scrubs her clothing.

“Hold your nose, it won’t taste as bad.”

“Sif, I _know._ ” He raises the dripping meat to his lips and bites down, finding the flavor inoffensive. He eats half of the organ before realizing how much is gone. Sif busily scrubs under her fingernails, stubbornly trying to get the last few specks of blood.

“That good, huh?” she asks, one corner of her mouth turned up.

“It’s tolerable. Do you think I have to eat the whole thing?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt. Those stories also say you have an insatiable appetite. Is that a lie?”

“Sif,” he smiles slyly, “You know it isn’t.”

As Loki finishes the last of the serpent’s heart, blood trickling from his hands and dripping from elbows onto his bare thighs, Sif rises from the tinted water and steps over the edge.

“I’m ready for the main course,” he purrs as he eyes her glistening body.

She glances at his half-erect cock, and her tongue darts out to moisten her lips.

“We talked about this before I left, Loki. That’s what the heart is for. Consider it a parting gift.”

“Talk is cheap, love. I prefer action.”

She snorts, “Right.”

He reaches for her leg, and she brushes him away.

“Loki, I’m serious. We’re done. I need to focus on my training. We’re not right for each other anyway. You need someone more like you.”

Loki’s hand drops to his side and his body stiffens, eyebrows mashing together. “Someone… like me.”

“Yes, someone who understands you. You would never be happy with me.”

“You mean ergi. Someone out of place. A seiðkonur.”

“Loki, that’s not what I mean—“

“Isn’t it though?” he stands abruptly, chair clattering to the cobblestone floor. “You’ve had your fill of me, boosted your ego by ‘mastering’ the seiðmadr, and now you just drop me like an unwanted hound.”

“Loki, enough. I’ll not have this argument with you. Believe what you want, but we’re through.”

The warrior gathers her clothing and armor, pulling the white furs around her, and leaves amid a string of expletives. Her shield remains propped against the side of the basin, Grafvitnir’s blood darkening the runework.

~*~

Since Loki had dropped, near-death, to his feet in Alfheim, Thor had taken to checking on him throughout the day. The torment on Thor’s face yet holds enough weight to make Loki allow him this indulgence. Hence, when Loki fails to show for sparring practice and cannot be found at his usual haunts, Thor’s worry creates a misting rain over the golden city. And when, after being informed by their mother that Loki had likely gone to the stable to seek consolation from Sleipnir, Thor cannot fathom for what Loki needs consolation, the mist quickly condenses into brooding black clouds and white streaks of heat lightning.

Thor’s fingers squeeze tight around Mjolnir’s haft, knuckles bloodless and pale. His steps, ever more urgent, echo down the halls until he is booming across the sky, his hammer landing him outside of the stable before he realizes he had taken flight. He drops his weapon outside the door so as not to spook the horses. Inside, dim light silhouettes the faces of the powerful battle steeds as they peer at him over stall doors, hoping for a handful of grain or sugar cubes.

“Loki?” he murmurs, checking each stall and patting its resident on the neck as he passes.

Thor reaches the big stall at the end, but Sleipnir’s huge gray head does not greet him. He opens the stall door and goes in, glancing through the musty murk until he finds Sleipnir laying in the corner, back and neck against the wall with his eight legs curled up under him. Loki lays against his belly, braiding what he can reach of the stallion’s waved mane and tail.

Thor exhales a long-held breath and sits against the closed door.

“He’s mine, you know,” Loki mutters, eyes focused on the fingers weaving through the horse’s mane.

“Loki, we all know you brought Sleipnir back and we are all grateful, but he belongs to father.”

“No, Thor, you misunderstand. He is mine in the way that we are Frigga’s. I bore him, I named him, and he will always be mine. And no,” his voice hardens as his eyes focus on Thor, “his father is not a horse.”

“Sleipnir is—“ Thor shakes his head. “You’re changing the subject before I’ve even begun. Mother said you were upset.”

“Yes.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You knew I was avoiding speaking about it, and still you ask? No.”

“Loki!”

“Thor.”

“To Hel with you.”

Thor jumps up from the floor, advancing on his brother with hunched shoulders and glowering face. Before he can cross the stall, Sleipnir has risen and stands over Loki, teeth bared and ears back. Thor waves the stallion away, but Sleipnir lunges and grabs his hand in yellowed teeth. Thor freezes and contemplates how his father would react to finding the massive steed barbecued from the inside out.

“Easy,” Loki coos, stroking down the horse’s neck as he walks around to face the opponents. “He meant nothing by it. Let it be.”

Sleipnir releases his grip on Thor’s fingers and steps back, snorting and pawing as Loki guides his brother out of the stall by the elbow.

“I tried to warn you.”

“You tried to forestall me. You are still trying.”

Loki turns and shoves Thor against a wall. “Take the hint, brother,” he spits, hay falling down around them as his sneer pushes closer to Thor’s face.

Thor trembles beneath the weight of his brother pressed up alongside him, his eyes slits against Loki’s hot breath and his brows drawn down. Thunder cracks outside, and Thor grabs Loki by the waist and throws him over his shoulder, climbing the stairs to the hayloft as the pale figure kicks and wriggles around.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” he hisses and pushes fruitlessly against Thor’s shoulders.

“I’m taking,” Thor grunts and readjusts the weight on his neck, “the hint. The one you’ve been throwing for months. You said to take it, so I am.”

“Up here? In this filth?” Loki screeches, mock decency fooling neither of them.

Thor sets him down on a sweet-smelling bale of hay and begins to unbuckle his own belt. “Oh yes. The filth and everything else you deserve. Take off your pants.”

Loki stands, and immediately, Thor pushes him back down. He frees his cock, pants dropping to his knees. “I said: take off your pants.”

The massive bulk of the blonde towers over the trickster as he slides his trousers down from under his armor. Thor kneels and flips his brother over, draping the tails of his jacket across his back.

“Why are you dressed so? Planning on leaving?”

“I may have been,” Loki retorts from over his shoulder.

“No you weren’t. You haven’t even been punished for the last time you left yet.”

Thor spits on his fingers and rubs them together, hoisting Loki’s ass higher. He leans forward, wet fingers rubbing against Loki’s hole as his dry hand caresses his brother’s twitching cock. Loki shudders and tries to sink down.

“Thor, just give me a moment to change.”

“No.”

“I prefer to be a woman when taking someone of your girth, brother.”

“No.”

“But I can’t—you’re too big!”

“You can.”

Thor’s head dips down between Loki’s cheeks and he licks like Loki had instructed, in long, slow, deliberate motions. Each lick forces his tongue a little deeper into his brother’s crevice as he strokes the trickster’s cock to full erection.

Thor’s fingers trail again to Loki’s hole and push inside, wiggling against the tight muscle until it relaxes enough for all four of the thunderer’s thick digits. He grabs his own cock and tugs it a few times as his fingers curl around inside his brother.

“Thor, please!”

Thor leans forward to growl in his brother’s ear, “Please, what?”

“Please fuck me?” Loki whines.

“You,” Thor begins, spreading the slick of spit and pre-cum over his shaft, “are nothing but a power-hungry—“

He lines his cock up with Loki’s hole, the head pressing in greedily, “cock-hungry—“

He pushes in slowly, groaning at the tightness surrounding him, “little whore—“

He stops, fully encased within his brother, and leans again so that his breastplate scrapes against the back of Loki’s armor, “who has no regard for anyone but himself—“

He whispers so low that Loki can barely hear over the horses’ nickering downstairs, “and I will fuck the inconsideration out of you if we have to stay here all night.”

Loki gasps as Thor pulls out and rams back in, his hands pressed against the slats in the hayloft. The constant pressure inside him makes him want to melt through the floor as he is reduced to a pile of drooling, drunken haze and gibberish.

Thor’s hands feel up under his armor and hungrily wrap around his waist, steadying him as the thunderer thrusts into him again and again. He leans against the bale with one elbow, spindly fingers snaking down to wrap around his own cock and pull himself into ecstasy. He grunts and tightens down around his brother’s shaft as his come soaks slowly into the slats.

Thor, ill-prepared for the sensation of such a tight crevice, comes rapidly after Loki, roaring to the rafters as he slams his brother’s ass against his hips. He leans over the trickster, panting and glistening in the thin lines of light shining through the stable’s roof. Pulling out of Loki, he falls on his back in the hay.

“Are you redeemed, brother?” Thor asks, rolling to his side.

“No, Thor. I still care for no one but myself. I think,” Loki edges closer to the blonde and kisses his lips, tongue sliding past to wrestle with Thor’s, “I may need more reconditioning.”

“You shall have it,” Thor cups his jaw with a calloused palm.

“Tell me brother, how did you find me all the way out there in Alfheim?”

“Memory, mostly, and a little luck,” Thor kisses his eyes and squeezes his side, plucking at the armor his brother still wears. “Where you are going, you won’t need this.”


End file.
